


A Simple Beginning

by DarthSuki



Series: Daft Punk (EDM) and You [10]
Category: Daft Punk, Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every story has to have a beginning, and this one is yours. This is how you met the Daft Punk duo in a tale that’s (almost) disney-esque, plus or minus a few painful mishaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Beginning

General  
Name: y/n  
Eye Color: e/c  
Hair color: h/c  
Hair Length: h/l

Gender  
Subject Pronoun (He/She/Ect): s/p  
Object Pronoun (Him/Her/Ect): o/p  
Possessive Pronoun (His/Hers/Theirs/Ect): p/p  
Possessive Adjective (His/Her/Their/Ect): p/a  
Reflexive pronoun (Himself/Herself/Ect): r/p

* * *

Probably the worst part about the entire situation was the fact that you knew very little about what to expect. It took you forever to save up enough money, set up the date for not only your air trip there and back, but also just to find a hotel that you felt at least slightly confident about where you didn’t worry about the rooms or the service. It had to be close enough to the venue to walk (or maybe even take the bus), since hell--you didn’t have any money leftover for a cab after all of that budgeting.

But at last, even after pulling out all of your h/l h/c hair, you still felt as if everything up until physically stepping onto the floor of the venue had been nothing but meaningless...annoyances. Because when you saw the building, and saw the people all crowding around it--well, you didn’t know what to expect. The atrocities of finding a hotel for two measly nights seemed a blessing when compared to the unknown of a music concert--but hell better be reigning on earth if you were going to miss it; you’d been waiting forever for the announcement, the tickets--your friends had done plenty to encourage you, but none of them had the time, money or resources to come with. All….alone.

All alone at your first Daft Punk concert.

There was already a good number of people standing in line when you first arrived at the concert venue, starting right outside the main door and working around a carefully constructed queue line. It seemed like they all were in pairs or groups, talking among one another--you simply got in the back to start the wait before they actually opened up the doors to let people check in and enter. That was actually the easy part of the pre-concert jitters. Standing in line, all you had to do was just wait (which wasn’t that much of a difficult task when you had your phone, loaded with more apps than was probably ever needed for one person to have in the first place).  
The hour of waiting seemed to drift by pretty quickly. The only alert of it’s end was when a voice from one of the security guards began hollering from the front door to have your badge out for them to check and scan. One step at a time, closer to the door with one less person to wait for before being able to go inside, maybe even sit down somewhere. 

Most everyone already had their badges around their necks so it didn’t take much time to get to the front of the line. The plastic card was scanned and given back in a span of only a few moments, but it certainly felt like an eternity.

Through the entrance doors and into the massive room; it didn’t take long to fill adequately with people, enough that left you feeling crowded, but not claustrophobic at least. And that was where your first problem lay. Since you hadn’t the ability to go with friends, you were left to the dangerous, terrifying reality of being alone in this vast, open space and knowing absolutely nothing about what to do. Standing there like a dork didn’t seem like an amiable option, but talking to people didn’t really catch a shred of interest in you either. There didn’t seem to be anywhere that you could sit down and play with your phone (which really, you weren’t surprised at) so instead you merely wandered until you found yourself near the stage itself, off to the right but without enough people in front and around you to block the view. 

The setup was amazing, regardless of your personal worries about everything else going on. Just like you’d seen for their (sparse) previous concerts, the stage and pyramid both were intricately designed not only to produce the best sound of their music, but also to compliment their systems in their entirety. You supposed that was one of the perks about being both and EDM producer and a robot.

Robot, was that the correct term? It wasn’t as if it was offensive inherently, but it sounded odd to call them by the same word that could just as easily refer to anything mechanical that did a function. They hadn’t publically ever said anything about it either--they never said much of anything about themselves beyond music, though they had to have some level of personal lives regardless if they were metal or flesh. They were an enigma, which only gave aid to further hype and interest both in them as musicians, and them as living beings. 

The musings in your head must have taken quite a bit of focus from around you, because you didn’t even realize how close you were to a pair of excited fans who were jumping back and forth in what could probably be labeled as either eagerness or an attempt of dance without music. Regardless of what one could call their motions, one of them jumped just right so they pushed into your back. The world tilted as her body knocked yours off balance and tossed you down in a heavy heap of confusion and pain. The ground was hard, and the fall rattled your bones almost as if they were maracas.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed in equal parts confusion and pain as your hip started to throb, your side and stomach feeling a painful jabbing of pressure just as the girls realized what they did and started to pull you back up to your feet.

“Oh my god I’m sorry!” one of them exclaimed, voice nearly terrified enough that it sounded like she thought she killed you. She held your arms to steady you, which was probably for the better for the first few seconds as the world wobbled about. Pain throbbed in your side and hips, but nothing felt broken at all when you started to shift weight from one foot to the other. A little confused, frazzled, but nothing broken--the sound of fear from the woman who crashed into you was more than evident.

“Are you okay? I’m really sorry--we didn’t see you.” She and her friend’s apologies felt genuine when she looked you over, assessing for any damage and peering at her friend. “I bumped into o/p and--Oh I didn’t mean to I’m sorry.” At least they weren’t being rude, you figured, gently shaking yourself and stepping back a bit.

“No I’m--,” You said gently, rubbing a hand over your side where something had stabbed right against your stomach. “It’s alright, just an accident--please watch where you’re jumping though, ugh...” The pain started to fade with the careful rubbing of your fingers and palm against the hip that had hit the ground first. Painful, maybe bruised at worst, but nothing broken at least. Nothing you had to worry about getting fixed up by any medical professional. 

The two girls apologized again before disappearing back into the crowd. It was all over before you had a chance to realize you could have asked their names at least, maybe even given yours. The pain was mostly gone though, replaced by a tender ache if you pushed too hard against the curve of your hip. 

“Ugh…” You sighed, brushing back some of your h/c hair from your vision and catching something out of bottom of your vision. A glimmer.

You turned your face downward to the ground and saw something that was obviously not trash sitting there. It looked like a piece of metal, like it was very valuable. You looked back up in a futile effort to find the two girls and let them know they dropped something, just as the room had started getting heavier with bodies. No use finding them now, but with something that obviously valuable? You weren’t going to let it sit there for someone else to pick up. 

Kneeling down for further inspection came with the realization that the object was actually what had jabbed you in the side when you fell to the ground. It...looked pretty foreign, actually, really out of place . A few inches in length and as flat as a cheap, single-subject notebook. It actually looked like something that would be a part of a computer--like a motherboard or maybe some sort of drive--you weren’t entirely sure of the specifics. 

You did know at least was it wasn’t something those girls had owned. It certainly didn’t look like trash. The small item was pocketed without much of a second thought upon deciding that you’d find one of the security guards later about finding the owner. Maybe something from a phone, a little doodad that people put on to customize them--it wasn’t that uncommon with all the new tech coming out every few months or so, all proclaiming to be ‘the height of human technical knowledge!’, moreso than the predecessor.

With the reminder of a phone, you found yourself digging around in a jacket pocket to pull out your own so you could see what the time was. Huh. The show should have been starting already--or at least, the lights should be down, someone should be getting up on stage and into the pyramid….right? But there was nothing--the stage lay empty, barren accept for a few hands that looked far more energized than they had before. The lights were dark and nothing happened, no music, sound, anything at all to suggest that it was starting.

The stage hands scurried from one side to the other in their dark outfits, talking in what at least sounded like clipped, few word questions and responses, most of the terms you barely understood. You tried to tune your hearing to what they were saying in a little more detail when something else caught your sight. A suited man stepped up onto the center of the stage with a microphone in his hand, and everyone in the crowd started to murmur. This...wasn’t what everyone was really expect, you included.

“Please excuse the slight delay for the show,” The man’s loud, projected voice spoke over some of the speakers in the warehouse of a room. It echo sounded hallow in how it carried across the empty air, but the tone was calm. “There have been some technical issues that need to be worked out--it will only take a little bit to everything sorted out. I apologize again for the delay.” It didn’t take more than a moment of realization to work over the crowd, an equally loud echoing of groans and obvious annoyance that it didn’t seem like the man on the stage was apt to calm down further--he was off the microphone and out of sight in only a few seconds. 

Well, things could be worse, the entire concert could be cancelled or something. 

Er….maybe it was best not to ponder about that, since your level of luck would have had that strange man back on the stage and announcing even worse news to the waiting crowd. Yeah, no more thinking about how horrible that would be, after the chaos it took for you to even get there in the first place. 

For the first few minutes you stood there, hands stuffed in your pockets. Conversations were aplenty around, and it wasn’t hard to focus in on some of them with the obvious, growing irritation in the fans voices.

“Jesus, they’re robots,” A voice groaned. “I don’t understand how they can have /any/ technical problem if they can just, yanno, hook themselves up and run some sort of scan. I can do that with my computer--diagnose what an issue is and fix it easily.”

“Hannah, that’s like saying I can feel an internal wound simply because its apart of me or--even better, find a wound /in/ another person because they’re organic or some shit,” Another said, probably a friend by that tone of combined annoyance and sarcasm. “They’re robots, but they aren’t perfect--it’s the sound systems anyway that they said were down right?”

“Yeah, but that is comparing apples to oranges, Michael. I’m just saying they shouldn’t have issues with any systems like this--they’re supposed to be like, top of the line tech nobody can get their hands on, specifically designed--might I add--to compliment their AI systems like an extension of their body.” The first voice seemed pretty surprisingly well versed on knowledge for the robotic producers, probably a bit more than yourself. “I waited since /forever/ for them to go on tour again. And they rarely ever go on tour, if I need to remind you of that.”

Most of the other conversations were like that--people being angry, others being forgiving, and most being straight-up confused. You were mostly part of the forgiving. You didn’t the details, the reason, and it was pretty obvious that they wouldn’t delay a concert without one hell of a good reason. 

It seemed pretty obvious that they’d announce when everything was fixed--and it didn’t seem like that was going to be all that soon--hell, even the lights to the warehouse had brightened up a bit after the first announcement so everyone could actually see where they were standing. It sure did make you realize just how big the venue really was, how many people had all come to see the concert with just as much enthusiasm and eagerness as you. Since the lights had been dimmed when you originally came in, you didn’t notice how far it really stretched from one side of the other.

You wondered if they had bathrooms in there. Not that you forgot to use one before getting to the concert itself (too many articles about concert prep had taught you well to empty your bladder beforehand). The fall to the ground still left you feeling sore, and some low-level worry gnawing at your brain demanded to see how you looked, even though you knew very well that (luckily at least) you hadn’t fell on your face. Everything else was all fair game, considering how your body responded to the mere thought with soreness; your hips especially ached, one side assured to be a deep purple by the next day. Nothing that clothes didn’t cover--yes--but you still wouldn’t mind looking. It wasn’t as if you’d be missing any of the music anyway, so it was a win-win on that end.

Even though you hadn’t the slightest clue about the venue’s layout, you almost refused to ask anyone for help. Partially it was due to the fact that (in a worst-case scenario where no bathroom existed) you might make yourself out to be an idiot. The rest of it simply was due to stubbornness--you could find it more than easily without the help of another fan, who more than likely had just the level of knowledge about the concert venue as you did anyway. 

The crowd had gotten pretty thick with people. It took a while to push past them all, trying to keep up a mantra flowing from your lips.

 

“Excuse me,” you said every now and again, mixed between several, “Pardon me, coming through.” Most everyone simply did their best to slip out of the way, push back enough so you could get past. Several made a few lewd or fairly offensive comments, but a little ignoring managed to get you through the sea of people and to the far side of the venue--one of them at least. 

From the vantage point of coming in the front doors, you found yourself on the far right side of the building, where a red-rope kept a good four or five foot wide walkway clear. After ducking below the rope (and seeing no security guards, so it probably wasn’t against the rules maybe?), you turned and scanned your e/c eyes down the wall from where it met with the edge of the stage down towards the back of the room. 

Several doors were marked off, with a little sign that said ‘NO ENTRY’ in bolded black letters--it wasn’t hard to figure you weren’t allowed in there. The denial of entry continued down the wall, three more doors denying the chance for relief of that singular, still-gnawing worry that plagued you. Though you honestly had expected and planned for a lack of bathroom (and just about everything else), it still made you purse your lips.

But then you caught a door without any sign on it. Not simply where one had fallen off, just none at all to be seen. It had no label of any sort to tell you where it led, but a combination of curiosity and what you could later call stupidity (maybe fate? Yeah, why not fate) made you reach your hand out and grab the handle. A brief scan behind your shoulder proved that, surprisingly enough, there wasn’t anyone who had noticed you--they all seemed far too busy complaining, some of them apparently having gotten the attention of the guards who...may have been stationed there? Doesn’t matter--you’re already that far, literal hand on the door handle, and curiosity has gotten far more than something you can resist.

The curiosity leads you into a long, seemingly endless hall, a straight shot through the building and to the other side, where it turned a corner and leading off to what you could assume was the backstage, maybe. It definitely wasn’t a door to the bathroom, but....well, you didn’t have much of an excuse at that point. Curiosity, where it had started as a small, tiny plant in the back of your mind and fueled by a genuine need for a restroom had quickly grown into a giant weed. It clung to your thoughts, and could only be satiated by one simple answer--where did the door lead? It didn’t have a ‘do not enter’ sign on it and nobody had been watching the doors so….could anyone blame you? Hell, the concert still hadn’t started, so it wasn’t as if you were missing out on any of the two robot musicians any, and at the rate things were going you doubted the concert would start at all that night.

Might as well have a little bit of adventure before going back to the hotel. Might as well make the trip and all of those hours of anxiety-ridden to-do lists worth it, right?

If you had a yolo button, you were sure you’d be pressing it, slamming a fist on that button out of pure nervous abandon as you slipped through the door and closed it behind you, giving it (or trying at least) no more thought before stepping into the hallway. Just...passing through. Nothing else seemed to be labeled anymore, once you stepped inside. There were room numbers that hung beside each door, and again most of them were locked, so you didn’t even have the chance to check each one down the hall. Your shoes made a soft, barely-noticeable noise on the wooden floor, tapping with each step that brought you deeper into the hall and fueled only by your curiosity. 

What was this part of the building even used for? You let the question shift around for a while, simply filtering between the edges of your other thoughts, like some constant theme. A couple minutes more of walking doesn’t really do much to answer the question, since turning at the end of the hall only gave you a beautiful view of more hallway and more doors--some of them did have labels on the front at least. 

It did seem to settle your curiosity to find that most of them, especially with the farther you walked into the building, seemed to yield things like ‘supply office’, ‘system management’, and various other things that at least made you feel like you were somewhere important--probably just behind the stage, actually, since you started to see a few doors and curtained-off doorways that would lead right back out to where you saw those frantic stage-hands trying to make sense of the situation. 

Still no music, still no robots getting cheered at as they stepped into the view of the waiting audience. The confusion from the concert’s delay was soon starting to morph into some level of concern. It was a deep, nagging concern you almost felt weird about. Was something wrong with Thomas and Guy-Man that the manager just wasn’t going to tell them about? Were they broken? Get a virus? Did they get hurt? By that time you yourself were starting to doubt the whole ‘error in the sound system’ thing, since it was almost twenty minutes in past the time everything was supposed to begin. But… that was stupid to worry about--you were just a fan, it wasn’t as if you were dating them. Even though you tried to convince yourself that your fear was silly, and that your concern was almost ranging on the side of intimate, you simply couldn’t stop yourself from letting it continue to linger and grow until it had taken so much of your focus and thought--

\--You failed to notice when a door flung open from the wall beside you, slamming the wood right into your face. 

There is little to explain the way in that one moment the entire universe seem to bloom into bright, flashing lights before your very eyes as wood made a solid contact. For a mere pinprick of time everything was white-hot, frozen before the realization finally started to trickle through your mind. The realization that you had totally and completely fucked up beyond belief. 

The frozen moment cracked into pieces and catapulted you back into the way time normally works--forward--just as fast as it has froze into silent stillness. Blind to nothing but the searing, bright-hot pain that started to throb across your face, you fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes for the second time that night. Your hip hit the ground hard, and a cry quickly accompanied the fall when the once-gentle ache suddenly felt like someone had hit you with their car, all that weight against your hips and ass more than enough for your mind to go blank for a few seconds--

Or maybe it was a minute. When your eyes opened up again and your mind started to clear the fog, you weren’t actually on the floor anymore. Instead, you lay upon the soft, tender comfort of a couch--when consciousness came in stronger drifts and waves against your e/c eyes, it became clear that the couch wasn’t even that. Instead it was just several chairs with cushions pushed up side by side of one another; they shifted oddly when you sat up in your hazy confusion.

The sound of voices started to drip into your ear as consciousness flooded the crevices of your mind again. A lot of it at first sounded like machinery--heavy beeping, scratching and hissing, something that one might hear from a computer, or more specifically one that’s got a high probability of exploding. But there were words too, interspersed between the noises, clipped little sounds that your brain was (amazingly enough) able to decipher. 

“You knocked out a fan,” One voice was low, blunt, with words as sharp as a knife--and almost unmistakably robotic. “We actually knocked out a fan--what was s/p even doing back here?” More hisses, beeps and thensome echoed into your ear and bounced around your throbbing head, making you groan and hold the palms of your hands up over your eyes just to keep the blaring light out--just to keep the throbbing down. There had been an icepack over your forehead when you first woke up, but it had fallen to the floor a minute before and you didn’t have the energy nor will to pick it back up just--....everything sorta hurt.

From what short glances you managed to get before you seemed to succumb to the wrenching headache, the room was small. With only a few pieces of furniture otherwise distracting from the fact that there wasn’t much to look at--blank off-white, almost yellow walls and a dark grey carpet--it wasn’t anything that you recognized. There lay only a desk on one side, with you (and all of the pushed-together chairs) on the other. Pain mixed with confusion, confusion mixed with fear, and fear with anxiety. 

“We?! Guillaume, You were the one storming out of the office and didn’t hear her outside--”

“It wasn’t as if I did it on purpose,” The first voice interrupted the second, almost sounding flustered for the accusation. When he finally let out a sharp, obvious metallic huff (of air?) in some form of submission to the other’s concern, you realized that the voices were coming from just outside the room. Muffled only by the door--the owners were outside, leaving you to wonder what the hell was going on.

There must have been a groan that came from your lips, because within a moment of taking away your hands to let your eyes take another glance (maybe even figure out where you were), the owners decided to check to make sure you weren’t dying and opened up the door to look at you. And they did--upon noticing that you were awake, both of them looked more than a little shocked, and in some instinctive reaction, closed the door just as quickly as they had opened it, accompanied by a sharp sound from both that you’d only later learn was a french curse. 

“s/p’s awake,” The blunt voice was getting even more flustered--they probably didn’t expect you to wake up any time soon. “-merde, what am I supposed to tell o/p?” Though your brain was still hazy, still clouded up and throbbing, it didn’t take more than a second to take enough notice to give both of the voices a name and face.

“...Maybe that you’re sorry?” There was a series of sharp beeps, angry, flustered if one could even put an emotion onto such a short noise. It had to be the first voice since the second quickly quipped, “Or maybe a, ‘hey, it’s really good that I didn’t knock you out, are you feeling alright? Should I get another ice pack or call the ambulance?’ ?”

Maybe you actually did hit your head to the ground from the concert floor, so hard in fact that it knocked you right into some lucid dream. Everything was nothing more than some frantic fantasy that came from worry, or simply from the deep, underlying fascination and attraction that you only rarely communicated with your closest friends towards the very duo you’d gotten a glimpse of.

Because hell if you’d actually believe that the two people arguing about accidentally opening up and slamming a door in your face was actually the very two robots you had come to see live--Daft Punk. Shock didn’t even begin to describe the cold, warbling feeling that quaked within your stomach, rendering even the most painful throbbing of your face nothing more than a pinprick. Maybe it was adrenaline that made you nearly fall out of those chairs to get up to your feet. Maybe it was stupidity, or sheer curiosity unblinded by almost every part of your body screaming at you to stop due to ache and pain. But--

“Daft Punk?” You opened the door with a sharp twist of your hand, opening it so fast in fact that you nearly fall over yourself, as well as the two robots that were (really) standing just outside the doorway. They caught you as the shock did plenty to put you off balance, hands gently grabbing both shoulder and waist, just to get you back, somewhat balanced, on your feet. 

“Please don’t jostle yourself,” The taller, silver bot beeped, slow and gentle as his hands lingered to make sure you didn’t just up and fall again--it did seem to be a running occurrence for the night anyway. It was Thomas, legitimately Thomas, sounding so concerned and worried for you. “You have been injured enough for one evening and--”

“Holy shit--” Your voice cuts him off, if only because you are honestly /that sure/ it’s nothing more than a really painful dream. “You guys are actually...here?”

“I would hope so,” Another voice said beside you, a lower one and sounding as blunt as it had before. Guillaume of course, since Thomas could never seem to create that level of sass. “It is our concert tonight after all--I’m fairly certain that being absent wouldn’t look all that good for our career.” He had his hands on your shoulder, holding it gently as your mind simply needed a few seconds to wrap itself around not only the fact that they had opened a door in your face, but the fact that….well, you were standing right in front of the two robots you had a crush on ever since hearing the first album you’d only accidentally received from a friend. 

It wasn’t that hard for one to imagine that you were, for lack of a better description, in a bit of a shock. How did one actually respond to that sort of event? 

By collapsing to the floor in pain of course! Once realization came to terms that you were not in fact dreaming, the pain came back full-force, making your legs wobble and finally give out beneath your body. Thomas and Guy both let out a sharp sound of surprise as their hands came to hold you up again, finally deciding that sitting you down might be better before talking.

A few minutes after found you and them talking, another ice pack pressed to your head which did quite a bit to help with the pain. No broken nose, no bleeding, just one hell of a hit that jostled you plenty. Guillaume apologized, and Thomas then apologized again for him, a string of french and english only comforted and stopped when you assured them it was nobody’s fault, just….well, you weren’t supposed to be back there anyway.

“Why...were you?” Thomas asked, a question mark appearing in a flash over his faceplate. “Did you get lost? I thought they had signs over all the doors and locked them…” Oh god, no, the reveal of your stupidity-filled curiosity. Panic flooded through your system when you realized that, had it been absolutely anyone else (a manager, a stage hand), anyone but the two robot producer’s themselves--you couldn’t just tell them you were looking for the bathroom. It was as silly as it was laughably see-through of a lie. So instead you searched your frantic mind for something else, anything that sounded at least half-true to appease the curious bot.

Your fingertips brushed over the metal piece and the idea bloomed like a miracle in your mind. Like the bright light of heaven had shined down upon you to keep irreparable embarrassment from your name, you pulled out the chip-like object to brandish it in front of you. “I was--” You started hastily, licking your lips and fumbling the piece around between your finger while both Thomas and Guy both just...stared at you. It was hard to gauge emotions on both of them, since a blank faceplate could mean just about anything. But something about the way they just sat there, slumping forward in some form of breathless shock.

“You...actually have…” Thomas started. “Where did you find that?” He sounded completely confounded, at a loss of words that Guy seemed plenty full of instead as you tried to explain how you simply found it on the floor (omitting getting shoved to the ground in order to have found it). You tried to find the owner, as the words came in explanation, tried to look around and tried to find a guard and found an unlocked door and well...

The shorter of the two reached out a hand to take it from you in a surprisingly gentle manner, considering how harsh his words were afterwards. “We’ve been--...Putain de merde! Thomas, all this time we’ve been looking and--” Thomas didn’t sound as aggressively excited as his shorter companion, pushing the piece away from his face when Guillaume decided he needed a closer look right in front of his screen. 

“--yes, yes Guillaume, je le vois--it’s right in your hand I--” And he let out a groan as shorter, golden bot practically jumped out of his seat. 

“And you said I was the one I lost it behind the stage!” The series of short, sharp beeps that quickly came from him (along with quite a light show of various typographical symbols) that was almost laughably humorous simply from how annoyed he sounded. Confusion was the only word to describe yourself as you listened to them begin to bicker back and forth for some time about what Guy held in his hand. Well, confusion until it finally clicked.

“The concert is delayed because you were missing that piece?”

As if both bots had forgotten your presence, both a silver and gold helmet turned to look at you. Guy fiddled with the motherboard-like piece between his dark fingers before his screen flashed a green check mark. 

“They actually were telling the truth about the sound systems,” he explained with a quick huff before finally turning to leave from the room. His departure was a bit quick, and most of his words were a garble of excited relief--Thomas did better to explain. 

Turned out that the motherboard piece was just that--an actual piece to part of the new sound system they were using at the venue--something that allowed them to wirelessly hookup to the entire stage of lights and speakers, apparently as Thomas explained. It was such an important piece--and probably was knocked off when the pieces were being carried in and set up. It was only a pure, slim stroke of luck that anyone had actually found it on the floor. And you felt...pretty damn lucky, actually, even as Thomas started again to apologize for everything that happened, more than offered to pay whatever he could to help you, even offered to get a doctor to look at you when all you could do was laugh.

That...obviously confused the poor bot. Question marks started popping up over his faceplate even as the laugh died down to little more than a giggle. You did suppose that it sounded a bit creepy, just laughing after his words of attempted comfort and genuine distress, but you couldn’t find the entire situation anything other than hilarious. Well, besides painful.

“I think I’m going to be fine--the pain’s going down anyway, I just….need to stop getting hit by doors.” Though you tried to make it sound like a joke, Thomas didn’t looked any comforted by the humor. He beeped almost pathetically in argument.  
“But we...hurt you…” He said gently, as if truly acting like what he was in the moment, a robot, unable to process what you told him. “I can’t send you back on the floor after all that--especially that...well, you did help us find the part we lost…” 

There was a muffled sound from a few walls out--a man’s voice, still dull despite obviously being over a speaker. Considering the cheer that practically erupted after he was done, one could only be led to assume that everything was finally back on track, the piece put back in the proper place, and the concert would, at last, begin. But as much as the sound and revelation caught your attention, it didn’t keep Thomas from his intrepid path on trying to make up for what happened.

“...Are you staying at a hotel?” He asked, almost shyly. 

You looked back at him curiously, tilting your head as you answered with a shrug. “Yeah, one on the edge of town. It’s uh, the Super 8 motel just by the gas station.” It was a bit of a mystery to why he was asking in the first place--at least until he continued.

“Would it be at all intrusive to suggest if you’d like to change to the hotel we’re staying at?”

Your heart stopped for a moment. Wide e/c eyes looked up at the robot. “I….wouldn’t reject the offer, if that’s what you mean. I could only afford two nights and...I would very much appreciate it, actually.” A blush starts to bloom on your cheeks. “...Thank you, Thomas.”

Thomas makes a low noise, perhaps his version of a sigh, soft and gentle despite the fact that he didn’t really have lungs to sigh with. His hands fiddled around in his lap as the cheering outside continued. “I--just realized that we never asked for your name. I’m sorry about that, I should have been more careful and stopped Guy before--”

“It’s y/n,” you said gently, reaching out a hand to touch his arm which, surprisingly enough, stopped him from rambling on in another apology. “You don’t have to apologize, Thomas, it’s alright. I guess you could say I’m happy to meet and talk to you--despite the door in the face thing.” The door started to open as you smiled hang lingering on Thomas’ arm.

“Thomas,” It was Guy, of course, standing in the doorway with his hands set to his hips. He didn’t seem to need to say more than that before Thomas looked to you, made a noise (which sounded something along the lines of asking for permission?) you simply blinked and nodded without too much thinking.

Next thing you know you’re off your feet and in the arms of that very bot. Considering the gasp that came from your lips, it wasn’t a surprise that he looked down at you with a question mark over his faceplate again.

“Are you okay?” He beeped, the words cut through with that same worry again, the kind that seeped into his ramble from before and it...it was too cute. Just a genuine, honest worry. You barely had a moment to nod your head (which was devoid with anything more than a dull ache) before Guy said something that probably knocked the wind out of you moreso than the door ever could.

“Good,” He said, uncrossing his arms and leading Thomas out of the door and through the hall. “Because you’re having dinner with us after the concert is over.” 

The words echoed through you even after Thomas found a comfortable spot for you to sit backstage, assuring that you were more than welcome to stay there and get a stagehand if you needed ice, food--anything at all. He assured all you needed to do was just enjoy the music.

And you did--you enjoyed the music like you enjoyed dinner after everything was done, even though neither Thomas nor Guy ate anything themselves. Then came the hotel, where you three spent the night talking still about whatever seem to catch interest.

And it was that fond, beautiful memory that you kept months later. Months of talking, calling, and eventual dating until you finally found yourself moving in with both at their secluded, rather humble home. It was there that they greeted you at the airport, with gentle hugs and equally gentle words that would always make you smile.

“We love you, y/n.”


End file.
